


Ronan Lynch Things

by boywholivednotdied



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Fluff, For the most part, M/M, More Pining, Pining, Ronan being a giant nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywholivednotdied/pseuds/boywholivednotdied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a couple of things Ronan doesn't tell even Gansey. The fact that he's been crashing his car on purpose is one of them. AU where Adam never went to Aglionby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ronan Lynch Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shuufleur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/gifts).



> Hey guys! 
> 
> So this is an AU where Adam never went to Aglionby, but still works three jobs in order to save up so he can pay his way through college. This is in Ronan's POV so expect a lot of swearing. 
> 
> I know this fic is pretty short but there are a bunch of people who helped me with it. Biggest thanks goes to my WIP Big Bang artist Manuushuu! Check out their stuff here: http://manuushuu.livejournal.com/5281.html and http://archiveofourown.org/works/7562113
> 
> Big thanks to Kieva and Emma (multifandomcircusfreak) for reading the drafts over and giving me their feedback. You guys are the best! 
> 
> Finally this fic is dedicated to theunofficialmarauder.tumblr.com who is the one who managed to finally drag me into the TRC hellhole. This one is for you! :)

 

                                                                            

Ronan was good at secrets. Exceptional, one could say. The reason being that from the tender age of four and three quarters, he was taught to keep things to himself.

“When people know your secrets, they can be used against you,” Niall Lynch liked to say. He used to say it to all of his sons, but Ronan always got the distinct feeling that the sentiment was aimed at him. He remembered a particular day, when he was about six years old. Niall had taken him out into the fields. They walked for a long time in silence, their shoes squelching against the wet mud, the sky gloomy and overcast above them. Then Niall grabbed his hand and pulled him into one of the barns. Ronan remembered how the place smelled - dank and musty, like dust and wet fur. Niall gestured around at the sleeping animals, the odd trinkets that littered the ground in between them that glowed and pulsated in the semi-darkness.

“You see all this, Ronan?” he asked.

Ronan nodded.

“If people knew about this,” Niall continued, “we wouldn’t have it. It wouldn’t be ours.”

Ronan said nothing. Niall crouched down before him, looking directly into his matching light blue eyes. “The only reason all of this is ours is because other people don’t know the truth. When people know the truth, they use it against you. Do you understand? This is a secret, and the best way to keep secrets is to stay quiet when people ask you about them.”

Ronan nodded, and from then on kept his secrets close to his chest.

Over the course of his life, Ronan had grown to discover a lot of things about himself, the least of which was that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t admit things that could potentially make him vulnerable. It wasn’t even about secrets - it was about everything. Admitting he was lonely. Admitting he was unhappy. Admitting he needed help.

And yet, despite everything, despite how closed off and difficult Ronan was, Richard Campbell Gansey III had still managed to worm his way into his head and his heart. By the end of their first year together, Ronan could say without hesitation that Gansey knew him better than anyone else in the whole world. Maybe he didn’t know all of his secrets, but he didn’t need to know them. He seemed to get him anyway, in ways that other people didn’t. Over the course of their friendship, Gansey managed to pull information out of Ronan like a magician pulling out those fucking coloured handkerchiefs from their shirt sleeves. He learned about Ronan’s turbulent home life, his insomnia. He understood his complicated relationship with Declan and his unwavering adoration of Matthew, even if he didn’t know the whole story. Ronan may have kept his cards close to his chest, but Gansey was slowly pulling them out, one by one. Despite Ronan’s upbringing, despite his inherent secretive nature, he learned quickly that keeping things from Gansey was hard.

The secrets Ronan did manage to keep from Gansey were few, and they burned his gut with guilt whenever they were brought up. And yet, Ronan didn’t know if he could ever admit them.

Not just to Gansey. To anyone.

Ronan couldn’t talk about that one. That one was dangerous. That one scared him.  

Gansey didn’t approve of Ronan’s friendship with Kavinsky. Never had. Even when Kavinsky and Ronan used to do nothing but hang around the grounds of Aglionby, throwing insults across the quad at each other, Gansey would look on disapprovingly. Later, he’d probably make a veiled comment about Kavinsky’s disreputable nature which would undeniably turn into a full-out lecture about his bad influence on Ronan. Of course, Gansey knew that Ronan occasionally raced Kavinsky. Ronan had gotten in trouble with the cops quite a few times - an inevitability on the roads of Virginia. But Gansey believed that Ronan had stopped after the last time he almost got sent to prison.

That, of course, was not the case. Ronan was a little more careful about it, but he’d never stopped racing. About twice a week, Ronan met up with Kavinsky in abandoned parking lots and streets on the edge of Henrietta, and then it was nothing but the smell of gasoline and the squeal of tires, and quite often the crunch of metal.

Which led to Ronan’s other secret.

No one knew anything about that one. Even Kavinsky hadn’t caught on to the fact that Ronan’s car had been getting damaged a lot more often in the past couple of months than it ever had in the year they’d been racing. In fact, in recent months, there was rarely a race in which Ronan’s car didn’t end up with a ding or a scratch, messing up the paint job. Everyone knew Ronan loved his damn car, which is why no one guessed he was doing it on purpose.

Perhaps ‘secret’ was the wrong word for the third thing. It was something he wanted to admit. Wanted to reveal really badly, in fact. But at the end of the day he couldn’t admit to Gansey, no matter how hard he tried. There had been plenty of openings. Plenty of late nights where Gansey had looked at him through his trusting bespectacled eyes when Ronan could have just spilled the truth. Apologised for the racing. Admitted to the Other Thing.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t expose himself. Admitting to wanting something so badly he could sometimes hardly breathe was to make himself vulnerable. So he kept it a secret, and when Gansey asked about where he went and what he did, he said nothing.

And then his car got wrecked. Not on purpose this time.

Kavinsky had picked the road. It was a narrow dirt road outside of Henrietta, and on his second lap Ronan made a sharp swerve that caused his car to land up in a ditch. The vehicle was a hot, smoking mess and so was Ronan. He had dirt on his face and a deep gash on his forehead. Gansey had called while Kavinsky was driving them to the hospital and asked where he was.

Ronan didn’t lie.

Which is why Gansey showed up to the hospital, equal parts fuming and concerned, all prepared with a fatherly speech about the consequences of street racing. Ronan got six stitches. It wasn’t even half as bad as they were expecting. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for the beemer.

“What are you going to do?” Gansey asked, as the tow truck picked up the mess of metal and rubber from the ditch.

Ronan shrugged. He kicked a rock and watched it roll down the shallow knoll. He wasn’t happy about Gansey being there. He wasn’t happy about his guilty pleasure being ripped from his clutches, possibly forever.

Like hell Gansey was going to ever let him back on the streets with Kavinsky.

“You going to buy a new one?” Gansey asked. Ronan shrugged again. Gansey sighed. “Do you want to see if a mechanic can fix it? There’s nostalgic value in it, after all.”

“Whatever,” Ronan said.

Gansey looked put out, but he kept pushing. “Who’s your usual guy?”

Which is why they ended up outside of Boyd’s Body and Paint. He’d stood outside the rusting gate maybe a couple dozen times before, but this time felt peculiar. Electric. Maybe because Gansey was beside him. Ronan could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest. This is it, he thought. The day his worlds collided.

In one fell swoop, both of his secrets were exposed.

Ronan couldn’t help the sense of forbidding that gnawed at his heart.

He walked in first. Adam Parrish was crouched in front of a Merc, inspecting the grill. He twisted his neck when he heard Ronan’s boots whisper against the dusty floor. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. In the orange light of the sunset, Adam’s blue eyes looked hungrier than usual. The light washed out his freckles, made highlights appear in his dirt-coloured hair.  

“Well look who it is,” Adam said, his voice cheery. The faint Southern drawl that tinged his words sent Ronan’s heart into another round of dizzy thumping. “What did you do this time?” He stood up, dusting his hands on the coveralls that reached up to his waist. His white t-shirt was smudged with dirt and grease.

Ronan said nothing. Adam raised a fair eyebrow.

“Is it that bad?” he asked. He pointed at the cut on Ronan’s head. “Is that from an accident?” Ronan shrugged and Adam shook his head.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“What the fuck are you complaining about, Parrish?” Ronan grumbled. “I’m giving you business, aren’t I? More money for you to save in your piggy bank so you can go far away and become a mechanic in Hicksville, Iowa.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“That’s not nice, Ronan,” Gansey said.

Adam jerked as he noticed Gansey. He’d remained by the door, looking around the garage with a wide-eyed appreciation the dump didn’t deserve. The day’s events had done nothing to blemish his pristine appearance. Ronan saw Adam’s eyebrows rise.

“It’s ok,” Adam said. “I’m used to it.” Ronan noted with annoyance that Adam’s accent had devolved into something more resembling his own.

“Are you?” Gansey asked. He shot Ronan a quizzical look. “Really?”

Ronan said nothing so Adam made a noncommittal gesture. “He seems to take pleasure in constantly insulting me,” Adam said. Gansey must have looked stricken, because Adam quickly added. “It’s alright. It gets boring here most days. It’s nice to have someone to keep me company, even if it is… this.” Adam gestured at Ronan.

“Asshole,” Ronan muttered.

Adam grinned. Ronan dragged his gaze away from Adam, as though not looking at him would do anything to hide the blush on his cheeks. Ronan was sure it was painfully obvious to Gansey from his mannerisms, in the way he kept glancing at Adam’s hands, in the way his words just didn’t seem to quite work anymore, what was going on in his head. Why was he even bothering to hide it? His feelings had grown so strong, at this point it may as well have been painted across his forehead. But when he finally turned to look at Gansey, his friend’s lips were pouted and his brow was creased in the way that meant he was disappointed.

“Ok,” Adam announced, “let’s see the car.”

He walked out of the garage. Ronan and Gansey trailed after him. Ronan watched Adam walk slowly around the crumpled mess of the car, inspecting the ruin with equal parts amusement and disdain.

Gansey pressed close to Ronan. “How often do you do this?” he asked.

“Do what?” Ronan asked. “Disappoint you?”

“Ha ha,” Gansey said, sarcastically. “No… street race.”

Adam bit his lip as he took in the battered trunk. Gansey’s voice seemed to disappear into a high pitched buzzing that Ronan could make no sense of. Nothing existed outside of Adam Parrish’s lips.

Gansey nudged him in his gut, breaking him out of his reverie. “Answer me, Ronan,” he said.

“Huh?” Ronan asked.

“How often do you do this?” Gansey demanded. He gestured towards Adam. “Apparently that poor boy - who you’ve never spoken about before, might I add - has had to put up with you, in his words, ‘constantly’.”

Ronan scoffed. It felt odd, talking to Gansey about Adam, but it was equally odd remembering that Gansey had no idea who Adam was. Adam Parrish had become such a staple in his thoughts, it was odd that to Gansey - practically an extension of Ronan by this point - Adam was a stranger. Somewhere deep inside himself Ronan had always believed that Gansey knew Adam, that he had somehow gleaned knowledge of the young mechanic through Ronan’s multitude of Adam Parrish daydreams.

“This is really badly damaged,” Adam said, finishing off his inspection. He furrowed his eyebrows, “are you sure you want to bother trying to fix it? Might be worth it just to buy a new car.”

“We were considering that, but were hoping for that kind of professional opinion before we made our decision,” Gansey said. He was being a typical Gansey, all charm and power. Adam looked back at him wide-eyed and awed. Clearly it was working.

“I don’t want a new car,” Ronan said.

Adam turned back to him. “Oh?”

“This has… nostalgic value.”

Gansey rolled his eyes, obviously thinking Ronan was mocking his words from earlier in the day, but Adam caught his eye. The corner of his lip quirked. Ronan’s stomach flipped.

“Be reasonable, Ronan,” Gansey said.

“I want this car fixed,” Ronan said. He sounded like a stubborn child. He crossed his arms.  

“With everything else I have to do, it’s going to take at least a month,” Adam said.

“You can’t be without a car for a month,” Gansey pressed.

“That’s fine with me,” Ronan said, firmly. Gansey sighed. Adam absentmindedly scratched his nose, leaving a smudge of grease there. Ronan looked down at his shoes.

“I really don’t get you sometimes, Ronan,” Gansey said.

Ronan shrugged. He said nothing.

***         *         ***

“I love Adam,” Gansey said.

Nino’s was almost empty. Ronan was slumped in the booth across from him, cheek pressed against his fist. _Yeah, you and me both,_  he wanted to say.

They had just come back from the garage. They’d been going three times a week for the past two weeks to sit there while Adam fixed Ronan’s car. Of course, this was not strictly necessary. Ronan had made up some bullshit excuse about wanting to make sure ‘Parrish didn’t fuck his baby up’ and Gansey had decided to come along:

a) to keep Adam company

b) because he was a ‘fine, intelligent lad’ and Gansey was ‘greatly impressed by him’

c) to make sure Ronan wasn’t being an asshole to him.

** **

“Yeah, I fucking know. You’re like a man obsessed,” Ronan grumbled, as though he wasn’t consumed by thoughts of Adam every waking minute. He shot a glare at their short, spiky-haired waitress who seemed to be taking her own sweet time bringing their pizza. Though that particular inconvenience was partly Gansey’s fault; upon meeting her he had made some sort of ignorant comment about her working hours. Ronan couldn’t blame her for being annoyed, even as he couldn’t help but get irritated at how slow she was being. _God_ he was starving.

“Hey,” Gansey said, looking up at Ronan, his eyes wide. “Do you think he’d want to come to Cheng’s party with us?”

“I don’t want to go to Cheng’s party,” Ronan reminded him.

“Oh yes,” Gansey said, dryly. “You’d rather go to Kavinsky’s and test the fragility of life.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Ronan muttered. “How fucking old are you, man?”

Gansey ignored this. “I think that’s a great idea. I think we should invite Adam to Cheng’s with us.”

“Why the fuck do you want to subject Parrish to that?” Ronan asked. He glanced out of the window, noting the darkening sky.

Gansey frowned at him. “Do you not like him hanging out with us?”

Ronan swivelled to face Gansey. He wondered if the utter disbelief he was feeling was obvious from his expression. Not that Gansey would even notice, given how oblivious he seemed to be. “Uh… no. I don’t give a shit if he hangs out with us.”

“It’s just that… you’ve known him for months? I don’t understand why you never asked him to hang out with us before?” Gansey put his thumb to his lips, the way he did when he was thinking hard. “Do you feel awkward because he’s your mechanic?”

Ronan almost spat out a mouthful of his coke. “What? Fuck no!”

“I’m just trying to understand, Ronan,” Gansey persisted. “You’ve met him dozens of times. He’s easy to get along with. Why not introduce me to Adam before?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Ronan said. “How was I supposed to know you’d fall the fuck in love with him?”

The girl brought over their pizza. She was filling their glasses with iced water when Noah walked in. He skipped up to the table, skirted around the girl and sat beside Ronan. He looked as cheerful as the red vinyl seats they were sitting on.

“What are you two talking about?” he asked, peeking over the girl’s shoulder at Gansey.

“I want to invite Adam to Cheng’s party,” Gansey said. Then he added. “Adam is our new friend. The one who works at the garage on-”

“I know who Adam is,” Noah said, vaguely. He looked at Ronan and Ronan glared at him in response.

“What?” Ronan demanded.

“Nothing,” Noah said, cheerily.

Gansey was looking out the window, his brow still furrowed. “He won’t think it’s weird, will he? To come to an Aglionby party? I’m sure all the boys would love him.”

“Are you talking about Adam Parrish?” the waitress asked.

Ronan and Gansey both whipped their heads around so quickly, she spilled some of her water on the table.

“Jesus,” she muttered. She pulled out a rag from her apron and began mopping the table.

“How do you know Adam?” Ronan asked. There was a bite in his voice that he hadn’t intended to use.

“He goes to my school,” she said, and then added a little sheepishly, “we used to date.”

Ronan could feel his gut twisting inside of him. Noah was still watching him intently. Ronan flipped him off.

“You used to date Adam?” Gansey asked. His eyes were wide and interested. “That is fascinating. I didn’t think he’d have time for things like dating with his abundance of jobs. How long did you two go out for?”

“Excuse me?” the girl asked, affronted. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business?”

Ronan tried to tune out their squabbling as he took a bite of his pizza. The minute he bit off a piece, however, he realised he wasn’t very hungry anymore. He chewed it mechanically, trying to ignore the hot anger that was now simmering around in his gut. The girl - Blue, as it said on her name tag - walked away eventually, and Gansey turned to him.

“It’s like she enjoys picking fights with me, or something,” he said, before seeing the look on Ronan’s face. He knitted his eyebrows together. “You alright?”

Ronan took a sip of his coke. He said nothing.

*         *         *

Ronan absolutely did not want to go to Henry Cheng’s party. He had been to one of Henry’s parties in the past, and it was the most boring occasion he had ever had to suffer through. And that included Math class. Adam, however, had accepted Gansey’s invitation to go. Which meant that Ronan was going.

It was a toga party. Ronan didn’t bother dressing up, though he felt something vaguely akin to disappointment when Adam showed up in his regular clothes as well. Though it was probably for the best. Ronan found himself mildly catatonic upon seeing Adam dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white button down shirt. He didn’t think he’d have the strength to survive a half-naked Adam Parrish wearing nothing but a sheet. Gansey and Noah, of course, _had_ dressed up, which Ronan was considerably less excited about.

The four of them trekked to Cheng’s house - a large mansion that housed literally the four most boring boys from Aglionby.

Ronan considered crashing Gansey’s car just so they wouldn’t have to go. But then he chanced a look at Adam in the rearview mirror. He was looking out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face as the wind tousled his hair and made his collar flutter and dip, revealing his collarbone. Ronan experienced a sudden bout of appreciation for Henry Cheng for giving him an excuse to take Adam Parrish on a drive.

Cheng greeted them at the front door, and Ronan instantly forgot all his goodwill towards him when he called him ‘The Lynch-machine.’ Ronan wasn’t sure what that meant, or if it was meant to be friendly, but he didn’t care. He gave Henry a snarl.

“We’re outside,” Cheng said, pointing them out towards the backyard. Outside, a large garden littered with people in togas and tables dripping with drinks and food stood waiting for them. Ronan made a bee-line for the drinks table and then grunted in disgust when he realised it was all non-alcoholic. He considered walking out.

“Do you think it’s weird we didn’t dress up?” came a voice in his ear.

“Fuck no, Parrish. You want to look like these losers?”

“I feel like I’m standing out like a sore thumb.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

He turned around to see a dumbstruck look painted on Adam’s face. Adam stammered a little bit and then shrugged. “I don’t know,” he looked down at his shoes. Which is when Ronan noticed them. Plain white tennis shoes. Completely worn out. He ran an eye over Adam’s clothes. They looked clean and well-kept but Ronan noticed the badly stitched hem of his shirt, the thread sticking out from Adam’s collar.

Was Adam honestly ashamed of himself? Ronan was staggered by the thought. If anyone should be ashamed it was these rich idiots prancing around in togas, not Adam Parrish who worked three jobs to save money for college. Not Adam Parrish who showed up to work with nasty bruises on his cheekbones and neck and only seemed more determined to make his own way through life. Ronan felt a bout of disgust, not just at Aglionby boys but at society in general, at anyone who’d ever made Adam feel like shit for being born into poverty.

“There’s alcohol inside if you want it, Lynch,” Cheng Two said, as he passed him.

“Do you want to…?” Ronan tilted his head towards the house.

“I don’t drink,” Adam said. “But if you want to…”

“No, I’m good.” Everyone was lounging on lawn sofas, laughing uproariously in their sheets and golden sandals. Ronan caught sight of Gansey jovially talking to some people on the far end of the lawn, and then grabbed Adam’s wrist. Adam started, staring down at where their hands met.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ronan said.

Adam didn’t protest as Ronan dragged him out the door and around the side of the mansion, before letting go of his hand. He could feel his pulse speeding up to an alarming degree, but he ignored it, forging a way through the darkness.

“Where are we going?” Adam asked.

“Away from here,” Ronan said.

They walked for a minute in silence, their shoes crunching against the gravel of Cheng’s driveway until it opened out into a balcony of sorts that looked out at a wide expanse of forest. Ronan leaned against the marble, feeling the cool wind against his skin. Adam folded his arms against the top, looking up at the stars that dotted the sky. Ronan turned, so that he could watch Adam, watch the way his eyes shone in the starlight, the way his neck curved as he tried to find the moon. Adam caught his eye and Ronan turned away, affecting disinterest.

“Do you not like Cheng?” Adam asked. His accent was thicker here. It was always thicker around Ronan. Ronan wasn’t sure why that was, but he was glad for it.

“Cheng’s annoying,” he said. “And his parties are awful.”

“You were hardly there for a minute.”

“It was a minute too long. Cheng’s skinny legs in that sheet are going to give me nightmares.”

Adam laughed, and it carried through the darkness. The second he stopped, Ronan had an overwhelming desire to hear it again.

“Is that a tattoo?” Adam asked.

“Huh?” Adam was looking at his shirt collar. Ronan touched the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah, it is.”

“What is it?”

Ronan shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

“When did you get it?”

“A few years ago. To piss off my brother.”

Adam grinned and shook his head. “That seems so _you,”_ he said. “To be motivated by spite.”

The air was getting colder. Adam shivered and unconsciously moved closer to Ronan. Ronan’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the warmth of Adam’s body beside him.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo,” Adam admitted.

“Really?” Ronan felt genuine surprise at that. He couldn’t quite imagine Adam wanting a tattoo. “Why?”

Adam shrugged. He looked down at his feet. “I’ve got some ugly scars,” he said. “I hate looking at them.” The second the words left his mouth his head shot up and his eyes widened, almost like he couldn’t believe he’d said them out loud. Ronan pressed closer so that their bodies were firmly touching. He kept his eyes fixed on the forest below.

“Scars aren’t anything to be ashamed of,” he said.

“Mine are.”

Ronan could feel the heat of his breath on his skin. Adam was no longer shivering. Ronan’s throat was dry. He swallowed hard, turned, and his eyes caught and locked on Adam’s deep blue ones. There was a magnetic pull to those eyes. He could feel himself moving even closer.

The screech of tires caused them to whip around. A white Mistubishi swerved through the gravel, stopping right in front of Ronan.

“Lynch!” Kavinsky swung himself out of the car. He was wearing his traditional tank-top and jeans, sunglasses on even in the darkness. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Kavinsky?” Ronan asked, shielding his eyes from the harsh light of the headlights. “The fuck you doing here?”

“Crashing the party,” Kavinsky said. A girl emerged from the other side, holding a bottle of alcohol. “The whole thing seemed too lame, man. I thought it needed something.” He flashed a grin at Adam. “Who’s this mongrel?”

“Nobody,” Ronan said. He said it hastily, unthinkingly. Instantly, a look of hurt crossed Adam’s expression.

No. Fuck no. No no. He wanted to grab Adam then, hold his face in his hands and tell him that it wasn’t what he thought. He wanted to keep him away from Kavinsky, that was all. He wasn’t ashamed of him. But Kavinsky was talking again, something about alcohol and molotov cocktails.

“Come with, man. We’re going to throw a cocktail off the motherfucking roof.” Kavinsky sent Adam a cool look. “You could come too, if you want.”

“I’m not a fan of injuring people, thanks,” Adam said, his voice icy. He wasn’t looking at Ronan.

“Suit yourself man, but you’ve not lived till you’ve seen a bunch of assholes wetting their pants in fear when a flaming bomb comes flying from the goddamn sky.” He laughed - cackled, practically - and then grabbed the bottle from the girl. He said something vulgar to her and then took a swig from the bottle. Adam watched him, disgust clearly painted on his face. Kavinsky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m going to leave,” Adam said. “Right after I warn the others that some dick is trying to ruin their party.”

“Don’t be a fucking pussy man,” Kavinsky said, but Adam was already stalking towards the house.

Kavinsky swore under his breath. Something about Adam. Ronan thought he heard the word mongrel again. He clenched his fist.

“Fuck this,” Kavinsky said to the girl. “Let’s go somewhere else.” He turned to Ronan. “Coming, Lynch?”

Ronan wanted to run after Adam. To explain. But here it was. One of Ronan’s dirty secrets laid out in front of him. Adam had known about Kavinsky, about how it was their races that was constantly injuring his BMW. Adam knew that Kavinsky, this asshole who wanted to throw molotov cocktails into other people’s homes and called boys be barely knew ‘mongrels,’ was Ronan’s friend. For the first time in his life, Ronan wished he’d listened to Gansey. Wished he’d stayed away from Kavinsky, had not been drawn to the flashy parties, the street races. Hadn’t sat idly by as Kavinsky insulted everyone he deemed inferior. Ronan _was_ ashamed, but it definitely wasn’t because of Adam. The only shameful thing there was himself.

“Lynch,” Kavinsky repeated. “Are you coming? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ronan stared at the gravel, fighting back the burning in his eyes. He said nothing.

***         *         ***

Ronan didn’t leave his room for a day and a half following Cheng’s party. Ronan didn’t leave his room much to begin with, which is why it took Gansey an entire day to realise something was wrong with him.

He knocked on the door on the second day, a plate in his hand.

“Ronan?” he asked. “You alright?”

Gansey was wearing his glasses, and his hair wasn’t brushed. He’d not been able to sleep last night either. Ronan could hear him through the walls at three in the morning, moving clunkily through the apartment. Though it was probably his insomnia that kept him up, and not because he couldn’t stop picturing the hurt look on Adam’s face. Ronan was lying on his bed. He rolled his head so he could see Gansey in the doorway.

He said nothing. Gansey frowned.

There was a beat. “Leave me alone,” Ronan said.

Gansey walked in anyway, placing the plate beside Ronan’s bed. A sad looking sandwich sat on it. Ronan’s stomach grumbled despite himself.

“Something is going on,” Gansey said. He perched at the end of Ronan’s mattress. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Ronan said.

“God, Ronan,” Gansey said, frustration making his voice crack. “Why can’t you ever just come clean about things? Is it so hard for you to be straight with me?”

“I’m always straight,” Ronan said, and then coughed. Gansey didn’t seem to get the joke.

“Are you?” he demanded. “Because you didn’t tell me about the street racing, and you won’t tell me what’s going on now…”

“What the fuck do you want from me, man?” Ronan asked. He didn’t know why he was getting angry, but it was flooding through him now. Anger. Pure and white and hot. Gansey looked taken-aback for a second, and then he clenched his jaw.

“I want to help you. I’m your friend.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Ronan spat. “It’s all me. I can’t say things. I can’t tell people what I’m feeling.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” The words came out before he could reign them in. Gansey’s expression changed from confusion to pity. It should have made Ronan angrier, but instead it just made him feel depressed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ronan,” Gansey said.

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Gansey frowned. “Is this about Kavinsky? Did he say something to you the other night?”

Ronan groaned. He sat up, pressing his palms into his eyes. “He didn’t… not to me, but I…” He could feel his gut churning. He looked up, and his eyes met Gansey’s trusting gaze. “I’m not,” he said. “Always straight.”

“I know.”

“No… you don’t. I mean like… literally.” 

Gansey looked confused. Rightly so. Ronan bit one of the leather bands on his wrist, tugging it with his teeth, waiting for it to sink in. After what felt like an hour but was probably only another 30 seconds, Gansey gasped.

“Wait? You and _Kavinsky?”_

“Oh god, _no._ What the fuck, man? Jesus Christ.”

“Then…?” Gansey looked lost, until it clicked. “Oh.” Everything must have fallen into place, because Gansey’s face lit up as though he’d found another Glendower clue. “Oh my _god,_ so when you went out with him…?”

“Nothing happened,” Ronan said, hastily. “But Kavinsky came, and… there were some misunderstandings. I didn’t correct him. He…” Ronan ran a hand over his head. “It was bad.”

“If they were misunderstandings, go clear them up now!” Gansey said. “He’s gonna be working tonight! Just… go over there!”

“And say what?” Ronan demanded.

“Tell him.” Gansey’s eyes were shining now. “Just tell him how you feel.”

“That’s the fucking problem, I _can’t.”_

“You don’t trust him?”

“I… I don’t know. I mean, of course _I do_ I just…” He dropped his gaze. His voice seemed to be catching in his throat. “What if he doesn’t want me?” he asked.

“Well then you’ll know.”

“I’d rather not know,” Ronan muttered. “And that’s not the problem anyway,” he said. “I _can’t_ tell him. I don’t know… how.” Gansey knew better than anyone than Ronan felt more than most people did but was only half as good at expressing himself. His body rejected outwardly showing his feelings the way most people’s bodies dealt with a virus.

Gansey stood up. He walked over to Ronan and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. “If you don’t know how to tell him, that’s fine. Do it in your own way. _Show_ him.”

Ronan turned away. He said nothing.

***         *         ***

Ronan liked Boyd’s Body and Paint. Not because it was beautiful or clean. It was kind of dingy, and dark. But he liked the smell of gasoline. And the boy standing in the back covered in grease wasn’t so bad either.

Ronan rapped on the metal door and Adam jerked around. He clearly wasn’t expecting company. When he saw it was Ronan he froze, and then turned away. He didn’t say anything, so Ronan walked in. For a moment Adam didn’t move, and then he turned to face him. He was wearing his orange coveralls today. Once again they were tied to his waist. He also wore a tight black t-shirt that showed off the curve of his stomach and made his arms look a little bit too appealing. Ronan gnawed at his bands again. The texture of the leather against his teeth seemed to ground him.

“Parrish,” he said.

“Your car is not ready, Lynch,” he said. “Come back next week.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Ronan said.

“If it’s about the party, just forget it.” Adam said. He’d been standing beside a work table, polishing something with a rag. Ronan liked cars, but he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what was inside them. Still, he liked that Adam knew all about them. Being a mechanic may have been a job that he hated, but Ronan could tell Adam liked getting his hands inside cars. It made Ronan happy to know that there was at least one part of this miserable job that gave Adam some kind of joy.

“I can’t. That’s the problem.”

Adam paused in his polishing for a half-second and then continued with double the gusto.

“What do you want me to do about it.”

“Just… hear me out for a second.”

Adam stopped. He put the thing down with a loud clank on the table. He crossed his arms across his chest. Ronan could see a scar peeking out from his sleeve and was immediately transported to the night of the party. To the feel of Adam beside him. To the look in his eyes. He’d thought they were going to kiss. But maybe that was just him desperately wanting to.

Adam was looking at him expectantly, an eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“I can bring things out of my dreams,” Ronan blurted.

Adam looked taken-aback. “What?” he asked.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. That’s why I never told anyone before.”

Adam was watching him with an expression that was caught somewhere between thinking he was insane and amusement. “I don’t…”

“I don’t get it either. When I’m in my dreams sometimes I reach for something - I just… I picture myself holding it, feeling it, and then when I wake up, it’s with me. It’s in my hand.” He scratched the back of his ear.

Adam’s wide-eyed look had him blushing, but he clenched his jaw. Digging his hand in his pocket, he pulled out the little mechanical firefly. He walked over and put it in Adam’s hand.

“I dreamt that last night. I saw it, and… I thought about you. Working here at nights. In the dark. I thought maybe…”

Adam was looking at it with a wondrous expression on his face. It was small and delicate, with a transparent body thin as glass. It wasn’t glass though. Or plastic. Ronan didn’t know what it was. It felt like marble to the touch. Inside a white light glowed.

“I don’t…” Before Adam could finish his thought, the little insect took off into the air, floating gracefully around the room, its mechanical wings flapping furiously.

Adam’s mouth fell open. His eyes followed it for a moment before landing on Ronan. “What is it… how did you…”

“I dreamt it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”

They looked at each other for a moment. “Do you think I’m lying?” Ronan asked.

“No,” Adam said.

“But you think there’s another explanation.”

“Not if you say there’s not.”

“There’s not.”

They continued looking at each other.

“When we met,” Ronan started. He stopped. He swallowed. “I thought I dreamt you.”

Adam stared at him. Ronan broke his gaze away, feeling foolish. Afraid he’d said too much. His beemer was lying in the middle of the shop. She was already looking much better. The hood had been replaced, and the front two tires as well. A fresh coat of paint and the front half of his car would look as good as new. He couldn’t bear to look at the rear half, though. That still seemed beyond repair.

Adam came up beside him. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at Ronan’s face with an intensity that made Ronan feel faint.

“What do you mean?” he asked. His voice was a whisper. Ronan didn’t say anything. His heart was beating to fast it was threatening to burst out of his chest. “Ronan?” Adam asked. “Why did you tell me that?”

“Because I trust you,” Ronan said. “I mean, I trust Gansey too, but I’ve never told him that.” He faltered. “I honestly have no fucking clue why I told you.”  

“And that?” Adam pointed at the firefly.

“You work in the dark,” Ronan croaked.

Adam looked down at his shoes. The canvas shoes again. This time they were dusty, covered in engine oil. “I thought you were ashamed of me,” Adam admitted. “I thought that’s why you didn’t introduce me to your friends.”

“I thought I dreamt you,” Ronan repeated.

Adam head jerked up. “What does that mean?” he asked, exasperated.

Ronan knew it didn’t make sense. The day he met Adam. He knew he could not have dreamt him because he didn’t remember dreaming of this boy with dust-coloured hair and big blue eyes, and he certainly didn’t wake up holding him or seeing him at the edge of his bed. But from practically the moment he met him, the moment Adam responded with a snark to his grumpy greeting, the moment he saw the way Adam’s light freckles appeared in the dull morning sunlight, it was hard to believe such perfection hadn’t come from inside his own head.

“I can’t just take anything,” Ronan said. “I have to want it. I have to really want it.”

He had barely finished speaking when Adam shoved him against the hood of his car and kissed him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it at first. Was he dreaming? It felt so real though. The weight of Adam’s body, the feel of his heartbeat, the warmth of his lips. It triggered something in Ronan, made every nerve ending on his skin come alive. He grabbed at Adam, pulling him closer. He could smell the gasoline on him. He could feel his stubble against his cheek as they kissed, breaking apart for breaths and then returning. Adam’s hands were on his cheek, leaving grease stains down his neck. Ronan ran his fingers through his hair as they kissed, along his cheekbone, down his spine.

They stopped when they couldn’t breathe anymore. The leaned against each other, chests heaving. Adam was looking at the ground, his eyes turned away from Ronan.

“What are you thinking?” Ronan rasped. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting him to say. Just that it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, that he didn’t just do it because Ronan gave him a gift and paid him a compliment. That this wasn’t just some sort of experiment, or a rebound from that waitress.

“That it was about fucking time,” Adam said. He shifted over, so that he was beside Ronan, leaning against the hood of his car. Ronan stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” His heart was thundering in his chest again.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” Adam asked. His raised his eyebrows. “I’ve seen you staring at me, Ronan, you’re not subtle.” He let out a low whistle, and then admitted in a soft voice. “I’ve been waiting weeks to do that.”

“So what was stopping you?” Ronan asked.

Adam turned to him grinning, his blue eyes practically incandescent with the same giddy happiness that was coursing through Ronan.

“I was waiting for you to say something.”

**THE END**

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Ronan Lynch Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562113) by [Shuufleur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/pseuds/Shuufleur)




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